Finding Terra Firma
by AnihyrMoonstar
Summary: Unfortunately for Butler, if there's anything more complicated than going to bed with Artemis Fowl…it's waking up with him. DB/AF, SLASH; Sequel to "Rational Intercourse"
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Artemis Fowl, nor do I make any profit from taking Eoin Colfer's innocent children's stories and shamelessly transforming them into explicit homoerotic romances.

**A/N:** Like "Rational Intercourse" this was, yes, written _long_ (years) ago; however, it's been lingering among my unpublished files for a while, and I figured it wouldn't hurt to finally upload it. AFF feels almost archaic now anyway.

* * *

**PART ONE**

Dawn came slowly. First, nothing but a slim ribbon of dark, dreamy purple on the horizon. Then, maroon and magenta, mulberry and mauve. From the wrought iron rail of his balcony, Butler watched it progress.

When was the last time he'd watched a sunrise?

Not twenty feet from him, his charge lay fast asleep in his bed. Not "his bed" as in "Artemis Fowl's bed," but "his bed" as in _his_—Domovoi Butler's—bed. His black hair stained the pillowcase, his lithesome body spread out, all long limbs and pale skin. If Butler shut his eyes, he could just make out the soft rise and fall of his breathing. His grip on the rail tightened.

_Put the principal first_, said every rule drilled into him since birth. _The principal is your life, your blood, your reason for existence_. Butler drew a slow breath, feeling the icy morning air tickle his throat on the way down. _Never doubt an order. Never hesitate_, and, of course, Butler let the breath out, watching it condense instantly: _Never make attachments_.

He sighed. Well, obviously, it was too late for that. He had officially broken the code of attachment back in Knightsbridge, the moment he revealed his first name. Dying on the floor of a fish restaurant, it hadn't seemed to matter. Of course, there was a rather pointed difference between revealing his first name and dragging his charge naked to the sheets.

The former could be—had been—overlooked, on account of extenuating circumstances: no one had expected him to get back up after a bullet wound to the heart. Butler frowned at the thought of attempting to explain the "extenuating circumstances" of the latter to his old Master.

'_Well, you see, he already knew my name, so I figured, why not sleep with him too? He's really quite stubborn when he sets his mind to something. Not to mention extremely persuasive…'_

Oh, yes, thought Butler. He imagined that would go over just _spectacularly_.

Scowling dejectedly, he strummed thick fingers on the cold rail.

Eighteen years. For eighteen _years_ he had served as the Fowl heir's ever-present guardian. He'd witnessed his first piano recital, given him his first dictionary, _taught_ him to play chess—lost, of course, but that was beside the point. Domovoi Butler had watched Artemis grow from Adam, spent more time raising him than his _parents_, lived and breathed virtually every second of every day with him and yet, somehow, he had missed the crucial shift.

At what point had the thin, pale-faced boy locked behind the computer screen become the bright, sure-sighted young man now tangled in his bed sheets? When, pray tell, had Artemis Fowl _grown up_?

He'd signed up for an unadorned, solitary lifestyle. No ifs ands or buts. Just rules. Orders. Straightforward things. And what did he get?

Behind him, Artemis stirred in the sheets. Butler glanced over his shoulder—and immediately regretted it.

Fuchsia sunlight filled the bedroom. It spilled in from the balcony, flooded the floor, and overflowed onto the sheets. It _painted_ his charge. Pink and gold across his chest, ruby and sapphire in his hair. Before Butler's eyes, dawn's fingers played Picasso on every inch of fair flesh available, making a masterpiece of the blank canvas of Artemis' skin, and the result took his breath away. Then, Artemis yawned, body drawing up like a cat in his sleep, unwittingly ushering the sheets lower.

Butler forced his gaze to the horizon.

That, he thought. _That_ was what he got. The single most brilliant, beautiful, impossibly complicated bundle of trouble the world had ever seen; a hundred and twenty pounds of record genius, striking character, and more dry wit and sarcastic humor than could fill twenty textbooks. Butler smiled grimly. Of all the stodgy, rich old bastards in the world waiting, begging for a handyman, he, Domovoi Butler, had gotten Artemis Fowl. Perhaps it was the luck of the Irish after all.

"Butler…" The barely audible utterance made Butler jump. "If you're quite through reassuring yourself that the sun will, in fact, rise perfectly well unsupervised…would you mind sparing a moment to fetch me some suitable morning attire?" inquired Artemis, voice little more than a muffled rustle beneath the sheets. "It seems that in my haste to rid myself of last night's garments, I failed to predict the state they'd be in come morning…oh, and remind me to tell father your mattress needs replacing. There's a lump in it somewhere that irked me half the night…not to mention I'm reasonably certain it _creaked_. Hardly optimal. Also…" For a moment, the strain of words paused. Then, "Butler, are you listening to me?"

Said bodyguard blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. Then, after promptly shaking his head to clear it, he nodded. "I…yes, sir, of course," he replied, working very hard to act both completely natural and simultaneously stare at anything _but_ his charge as he stepped in from the balcony—difficult, considering Artemis chose that exact moment to sit up, toss all but a thin sheet back from his body, and begin stringing drowsy fingers through a thick mass of thoroughly bed-tousled black locks. "Chemise or polo? And what color?"

"Pastel button-down, if you would," said Artemis, "anything but yellow. And make it something other than silk…cotton maybe. Something light…and khaki slacks. Have you made breakfast yet?" Butler opened his mouth. "No wait…forget I asked," interrupted Artemis. "Of course you haven't. You've been lamenting all morning." Butler frowned. "No matter. Just leave the clothes outside the bathroom door. I am in desperate need of a shower and feel as if I've been rear ended by a freight train…I'll meet you downstairs and you may deliver the rough draft there."

Butler tilted his head, paused with one hand on the door. "The…rough draft, sir…?"

"Yes, Butler, the rough draft," Artemis repeated, undeterred, frowning as his fingers caught a knot. "The one that starts 'You're too young and I'm too old,' almost undoubtedly contains some drastically exaggerated number of highly respectable yet completely unnecessary words like 'duty' 'honor' and 'respectability,' and may or may not end with a ridiculously frivolous reason for why 'it would never work.' Mind you I'd certainly _prefer_ the latter, but dread the former considering…" Artemis took a breath, then met Butler's gaze. "I have _watched _you kill people, Butler…but I have never seen you look so guilty."

"I…" Butler met his charge's gaze—fifteen years old, a reformed criminal mastermind as mind-bogglingly brilliant as he was arrogant, and yet—he dropped his gaze. "Artemis-"

"Butler," Artemis interrupted, and when their eyes met again, he arched an eyebrow. "Clothes?" he inquired. Butler blinked. "Unless of course," continued Artemis, "you'd rather I make do withou-"

"Yes! I mean…no, no, you won't need…that is…" Butler cleared his throat. "I'll have them right over," he promised. "Is there anything…specific…you want? Er…for breakfast…that is."

"Mm…" Artemis appeared to contemplate for a moment, and if he hadn't known better, Butler might have thought he was examining his nails. Then, he said, "Something…savory. An egg dish, perhaps…but not an omelet. Poached, I think…with cheese…and brioche."

Butler bowed. "I'll have it ready," he said.

Fifteen minutes later, Butler stood alone in the Fowl kitchen, pureeing basil, garlic, and oil for pistou, and adding water to a medium skillet, sincerely regretful that his younger master had not been more in the mood for something that involved a good deal more chopping. Minced carrots or nuts would have done the trick. Maybe even something that needed to be shot before served. A deer—or elephant. Butler tapped the counter listlessly, frowning at the still water. Waiting for pots to boil did very little to ease tension.

Really, though, he reasoned silently, what had he expected of his charge? Bashfulness? Insecurity? He snorted at the thought, shaking his head as he retrieved eggs from the fridge. "Bashful" and "Artemis Fowl" hardly fit in the same sentence, let alone defined each other. Still, insecure or not, carrying on regularly from this point seemed a near—if not total—impossibility. Which, of course, brought back to mind Artemis' demand for the "rough draft." Butler sighed.

Quite honestly, all things practical, Artemis probably should have replaced him years ago. After the cryogenics incident, he had never been the same. Never as fast. Never as efficient. He couldn't _protect_ Artemis the way he used to. Over time, he had worked on it, of course, trained his body back up, and now he was still probably better than the overwhelming majority simply due to experience—but he wasn't the best. Somewhere out there, somewhere along the line, there was someone who could take him down, and hevean help him if that person ever came between him and Artemis. He'd never forgive himself.

Convincing _Artemis_ of that, however…

"Surely," The soft voice from the kitchen archway nearly resulted in a crushed as opposed to cracked egg, "it's not as bad as all _that_…is it?" drawled Artemis, and Butler stared.

If guards were not meant to engage in intimate relations with their employers, there had to be some sort of rule that forbid any principle under the age of thirty from presenting themselves to _anyone_ anything less than fully dressed, towel-dry, and one hundred percent professional—which, of course, completely ruled out Artemis' current state: shower-damp, pink-cheeked, and barefoot. The fact that his loose, casual dress looked precariously easy to take off didn't help.

Butler swallowed thickly. "Artemis, you're…here," he observed, and Artemis raised an eyebrow, expression almost amused as he crossed the threshold into the kitchen.

"So it would seem," he agreed, stepping up beside Butler and casually rescuing the imperiled egg from almost certain death. "You have my apologies for the rather brash morning greeting earlier. Did you sleep well?"

"I…" Butler watched with a distracted, third party air as Artemis' fingers closed around the breakfast ingredient, slightly more focused on the soft, petal texture of the his charge's touch than the actual exchange. "Beautiful," he said. Then, at Artemis' look he shook his head. "Ly," he added hastily. "Beautiful_ly_. I slept very," He cleared his throat, "well. Thank you."

"Mm." Artemis' expression alone betrayed his disbelief, but he made no comment. Instead, held up the egg. "How many?"

Butler stared at the dairy product.

"Eggs," clarified Artemis. "How many eggs do you plan to cook?"

Cursing his distraction, Butler forced his attention elsewhere, trying rather unsuccessfully to convince himself that cold marble countertops really were a much more fascinating sight than long black lashes, hazel-blue eyes, and pearly white skin. If anything, it made things worse.

"It depends," he answered eventually. "How hungry are you?"

For some time, the silence stretched between them. Then, finally, the Fowl heir sighed, and Butler ventured a sideways glance. He found his charge with his back to the counter, eyes downcast and distant.

"Artemis-"

"Again, I apologize," said Artemis. "I thought perhaps…" He shut his eyes, then shook his head. "I thought it could wait until after breakfast, but now I see some things were simply not made to be put off. I imagine it is in both of our best interests to just do it now and get it over with."

Butler frowned. "Do…what, exactly?"

Artemis looked up. "I mean I believe you should give it to me now," he said, and Butler stared.

"Ah…Artemis, are you su-"

"Your _speech_, Butler," snapped Artemis, impatient, "your excuses. Quote your teacher or your rulebook, your morals or your ethnic code…say there are too many years between us, that it's not right or proper, or that it would compromise your duties to me as a guard…hell, Butler, tell me I can't kiss to save my life and you'd rather procreate with a horse if that's the case, but you left the bed at four thirty-six this morning, rose, dressed, and spent almost three hours alone on a cold balcony, don't _tell_ me you just wanted to watch the sun rise…I-" A single finger stopped the sentence, and Artemis' eyes darted up, sapphire and topaz, to meet Butler's.

"Artemis," he said quietly, "you kiss magnificently."

Artemis laughed breathlessly. "I see," he said, "and that's why you can't seem to find it in your heart to meet my eyes this morning?"

After a moment, Butler sighed and withdrew his hand. "In a way, yes," he admitted. "Artemis…you know as well as I do that all the arguments you mentioned are valid. I-"

"Do I?" interrupted Artemis. "Name one."

"Our _ages_?" offered Butler.

"Oh, yes," agreed Artemis with sarcastic emphasis. "There are, what, a full…eighteen years between us? I can see how that would put magnanimous gaps in our relationship…especially considering how _well_ I handle the masses society deems 'age appropriate' for me…"

"Twenty-one years after the time warp, Artemis," corrected Butler, "and you don't handle your peers all that poorly…" At Artemis' look he almost winced. "Well not _too_ terribly poorly!" he defended, and Artemis rolled his eyes.

"A second piece of rock solid wisdom, if you would?" the young Fowl prompted, and Butler sighed.

"How about your safety? My first order of duty is your absolute protection, and, as _you_ already mentioned, attachments compromise that. A personal relationship would be…distracting…among other things, not to mention dangerous."

"Mm, of course," said Artemis, "and _that_ argument makes perfect sense because before last night, you obviously had absolutely no emotional attachment to me whatsoever, and, naturally, if we cease and desist this instant, any possibly distracting emotional attachments present now would no doubt immediately disintegrate, leaving you as cold, hard, and ruthless as you've always been, am I right?"

Butler glowered. "You're not making this very easy."

"Should I be?"

"You were the one who asked to hear this…"

"So that I could argue each point to dust!" said Artemis. "Think of it," he advised, "as an…opportunity of sorts. A chance to get everything off your chest before I crush every point you make, convince you of the futility of it all, and we both move on with our lives."

"And live happily ever after?"

"To the most plausible extent, _yes_."

Butler resisted the urge to groan. "Artemis…" The words trailed off, and eventually, he sighed. "What about your parents?" he asked. "In case you haven't guessed, physical intimacy wasn't part of the job description, and I'm reasonably certain it wasn't something they bargained for when signing my contract…something tells me they wouldn't be too pleased with the change of plans."

Artemis rolled his shoulders, shrugging it off. "At this point, Butler, I hardly see it as any of their business. Legally, I'm eighteen and fully capable of making my own decisions on such matters, and while I love them, quite honestly, their opinions on my personal affairs are little of my concern." He paused, then added, "Of course, if it's the _job_ description that bothers you…I'd gladly alter some fine print and up your paycheck to ease your conscience…"

"My…" Realization dawning, Butler's cheeks flared, and he glared down his wickedly grinning charge. "Artemis, this _is_ serious, you know…"

"I _was_ being serious," countered Artemis.

Butler snorted. "My paycheck is hardly the thing at issue and you know it, and if not your parents, then what of everyone else? Holly? Foaly? Minerva? The rest of the world in general?"

"I hardly see Holly minding, Foaly will either come around or he won't, Minerva informed me of my homosexuality, and the rest of the world? Frankly, I haven't had much practice caring what the rest of the world thinks."

Butler sighed. "Then what about _you_, Artemis? You're _young_. You have every option open to you. You could have _anyone_. Don't you think you deserve better than-"

"-than what?" snapped Artemis. "Better than you? Not possible. Better than anyone and everyone else in the world other than you? Well, I most certainly hope so."

"Artemis-"

"I don't _want_ anyone else, Domovoi! I _have_ a man with whom I've spent virtually every waking moment of my life, one whom I've learned more from and admitted more to than anyone I know, and whom I _love_…more deeply and dearly than I ever thought possible of anyone…let alone myself. I…" Artemis swallowed thickly, shut his eyes, and turned his head. "I have nothing more to search for," he murmured softly. "There is no shallow girl in the world I want more than you…no boy on this earth that could ever hope to take your place. I know this. If you regret _anything_, by all means, tell me now, but if you think for one second that I-"

If possible, Artemis' lips tasted better than Butler remembered.

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**A/N:** This is a two-parter. The second half involves (some) big (accidental) reveals to family members (butlers and charges and parents, oh my!). Old as it is, there are certain things I'm still a little eh about with this, but I didn't put much effort into editing, so I hope it's still presentable enough that you enjoyed yourselves. Please take half a minute to comment. ^_^


	2. Chapter 2

**PART TWO**

There were certain things Artemis _knew_. He knew, for instance, that the average distance between the Earth and the Sun was about 149,597,890 km and that there were only really approximately twenty-three hours, fifty-six minutes, and 04.09053 seconds in a day. He told himself that there was a logical explanation for everything, and that any problem could be solved given the adequate amount of time, patience, and reasoning. It was that sort of mindset that he had lived by all his life, that sort of mindset he had repeated to himself this morning, and that sort of mindset he had promised himself he would retain, no matter what. As Domovoi's mouth closed over his, all the things Artemis knewevaporated faster than a morning fog under the light of dawn, and for once in his life, he couldn't have cared less.

"Domovoi…"

"I regret," admitted Domovoi, "many things…" and there was a subtle, buried pain in the words, but it slid by almost before it began, "but going to bed with you last night…" Large, impossibly gentle fingers brushed Artemis's cheek, "and waking up with you this morning…are not among them. Understood?"

Artemis swallowed, trying to remember how to breathe. "I-"

Before he made it any further, there was an sharp, glassy shatter at the kitchen entrance, followed almost immediately by a startled call of, "_Arty_?" and then, half a moment later, "Domovoi Bozidar _Butler_!" and both parties nearly tripped over each other in their haste to spring apart and face their unexpected guests.

"Mother," squeaked Artemis.

"Juliet," croaked Butler.

"_Artemis_," accused Angeline, and Juliet's face was pinker than a valentine.

"You're home early," said Artemis unnecessarily. "How was the trip?"

"Mama," Beckett whined, "why was Butler eating Arty's face?" From across the room, Artemis shot his younger brother a very potent death glare. The younger of the twins paled instantly and shut up.

"Because, dear," Angeline replied thinly, "he has a _lot_ of explaining to do… Now, be a good boy and go upstairs with your brother and play, alright? Arty is about to have a very long…awkward conversation with his mommy."

Artemis visibly winced. "Now, mother, are you _sure_ now is really the best-"

"Juliet," said Angeline, instantly commanding the room once more, "take your brother for a walk, and yes, Arty, dear, I'm afraid there is no time like the present."

It has been said, with some degree of accuracy, that there is no such thing as a "good" or "convenient" time to have The Talk. However, as times go, Artemis was prone to believe that 'after being caught in the kitchen making out with the butler' was bound to be among the top ten "Worst Possible Times Ever"—if not the top five. Thus, Artemis watched with no undue trepidation as all others fled the premises.

Once the room fell silent once more, Angeline let out a soft sigh. "Tea?" she asked calmly, heading for the kitchen counter, and the question surprised Artemis into a moment's silence.

"I…no," he declined. "I'm not particularly-"

"Sit," she said, putting water on to boil. Artemis obeyed. "Would you like to start? Or should I?"

"Oh…" Artemis frowned, cheeks reddening. "Erm…" He never had problems with articulacy.

"Is there anything in particular you have to say for yourself?"

For a moment, the temptation to begin with something along the lines of, '_Well you see, mother, when two people love each other _very_ much…,_' but somehow Artemis figured that might backfire rather nastily, and he resisted. Instead, he sighed. "If you wish for me to formulate some lavish excuse for unbefitting behavior and implore your forgiveness, this conversation is already a waste of time."

Angeline raised her eyebrows.

"I refuse to apologize for something I do not regret," continued Artemis, "nor will I seek forgiveness where I have done no wrong. Saying anything along the lines of 'never again' would be a boldface lie, seeing as I have every intention of repeating my actions, though I can promise you that we will, in the future, make a substantially greater effort to ascertain privacy beforehand. I must admit I would _prefer_ your acceptance of this…development, if not your blessing, however if these are things you feel bound to withhold, I cannot say it will affect my decisions."

"I see," said Angeline softly. "Well…" She removed the now-boiling pot from the stove and carefully poured a small cup full. "I was going to ask if you sure of yourself…but it seems that you are." After giving it a gentle stir, she took the cup in her palms and moved to the table, sitting with all due grace for a lady of her stature, and a soft silence filled the room, perfect if not for the whispered rustle of an outside breeze, the muted hint of distant bird-chatter. Eventually, she broke it with her own soft sigh. "Matters of the heart…are a tricky business, Arty," she cautioned, "not something for experimental study."

Artemis examined the tabletop. "I know," he said quietly. "I'm not…" A long, hanging pause. "This is not an experiment." Unready to meet his mother's gaze but unable to continue staring down the table, Artemis lifted his gaze to the kitchen curtain, watching the morning breeze catch the light cloth and wondering what words Juliet had for her brother. "I realize my track record where honesty is concerned is far from perfect," he continued, "but this is one field in which I not only fail to excel but feel…" He searched for words. None seemed adequate. "Blind," he said finally, "as if every step is little more than a hazard guess towards an uncertain goal and yet I…couldn't begin to guess how to retrace my steps even if I were so inclined." Finally, forcing himself to look back, he met his mother's gaze. "But I _am_ very much in love with him."

"So young…but then, that always has been your habit, hasn't it?" Angeline smiled slightly, almost sadly, then sipped her tea. "Well, you needn't have feared, Artemis. I have and _always _will love you…no matter what choices you make…or what choices life makes for you."

When she leaned over, kissing his forehead, Artemis blinked stinging eyes and looked away, because Artemis _did not_ cry—certainly not in front of his mother—and his, "Thank you," was barely above a murmur, but thick and heartfelt. When in control of his voice again, another thought struck and he looked up sharply. "You won't tell father…will you?"

Angeline rose from her chair, eyebrows going up again, fully composed once more. "Why of course not," she said, allowing him only the briefest moment of relief before adding simply, "_You_ will."

…

"Tell me you didn't, tell me you didn't, tell me you _didn't_…" Juliet begged as she walked out together with her brother into one of the many winding gardens that lined the Fowl estate. At her side, Dom said nothing. She groaned. "Brother…if this is another of that boy's awful experiments-"

"It's not," Domovoi assured.

"Dom…"

"It's not," he repeated, catching her wary, concerned expression, and he sighed. "Juliet-"

"I know you love him," she interrupted softly, and Domovoi blinked, surprised. She caught it and narrowed her eyes. "And don't you play innocent, either, it's _pain_fully obvious. You've loved that boy since the moment you laid eyes on him…" She held up a hand to silence his protest, amending with, "Not always _that_ way, but…there's never been a time when you didn't care about him." Domovoi conceded, shutting his mouth, and a pause ensued, stretching between the siblings as they walked. "You know," Juliet admitted finally, "I never could live by those bodyguard rules…not enough life…freedom…too much many rules and too much pressure, but you…"

"Jules…"

"I'm not disappointed in you, brother. It's not that at all. I've always looked up to you, amazed at what you could do, what you could take…what you could live without…but it was hard too, because there are some things…some things no one should have to live without, and in that respect damn every rule, Domovoi, I'm so happy for you but…_him_? Did it really have to be that skinny, gold-thirsty, bloodsucking, little vamp-"

"Juliet-"

"I don't _trust_ him-"

"_I _trust him."

"If he hurts you…"

Domovoi raised his eyebrows, almost amused. "If _he_ hurts _me_?"

Juliet scowled. "Don't give me that look, brother. Tell yourself whatever you like about your age, size, sense, or experience, but you know just as well as I do that he's the one holding the cards…he's the one with nothing to lose, and he has the final say. No matter how many reinforced steel doors you crush, your heart will always be twice as big as any muscle in your body, and if he changes his mind-"

"-then it is just as much his decision to make as it would be were he in any other relationship," filled in Domovoi seriously. "Juliet-"

"If you were going to break his heart, you would have done it before anything even began. He-"

"-would have made his intentions perfectly clear from the beginning if his goals were impersonal," finished Domovoi, and silence filled the gap. It stretched, hung in the air. Eventually, Juliet dipped her head.

"Fine," she conceded softly, "but mark my words," She looked up, meeting her brother's eyes and narrowing hers meaningfully, "if you're wrong and he fucks up-" Domovoi opened his mouth to make a 'language' comment, but Juliet barreled on, shaking her finger, "One false move, Domovoi, _one_…and no one will be able to protect him from me, do you hear? _No_ one. Not even you."

Domovoi shut his mouth and eyed his sister—arms folded now, eyes steely and jaw set. He almost believed her. "I'll pass that on, if it makes you feel better," he said.

"Do," said Juliet.

And they stood that way. Domovoi watching and Juliet standing her ground, their eyes locked. Only a fraction of a second before her, he took a half step, barely reaching out in time to catch as she fell forward, burying her face in his chest and sweeping her arms around his middle, clinging. Gently, he returned the embrace, catching a hand at her back and in her hair, and simply holding as she shook—stubbornly silent. Minutes passed before her body gradually stilled, and her hold relaxed, but didn't break, when she sniffed.

"Why couldn't I just have been _wrong_…"

At that, Domovoi, too, pulled back slightly, catching her eyes with raised eyebrows. "Don't tell me you saw this coming…"

"Okay," she agreed sulkily, "I won't tell you." Domovoi stared. "But this means you can't complain about anyone I pick up, okay?" He frowned. "_Any_one," she insisted, poking his chest, "_promise_."

"I…" he started. Her eyes narrowed, and he swallowed. "Alright," he agreed, "I promise…but if someone hurts you," He caught hold of her shoulder, returning her gaze solidly, "don't think you'll be able to protect _them_ either."

She managed to hold a straight face for all of three seconds. Then, her calm broke into a hapless grin, and she laughed as she withdrew, wiping her hands quickly over her eyes and nodding in concession. "Okay," she said, "deal," and Domovoi smiled, bending to place a quick kiss on her forehead.

"Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, returning the smile in spite of herself, "just…don't go thinking I'm ok with this for his sake…and he better realize how lucky he is it would upset you if I started using him for target practice, because otherwise…" For a moment, a dangerous glint sparked in her eyes, but before Domovoi could comment, she broke off with an, "Ah, speaking of neck-wringable target dummies…" and tilted her head towards the house, "looks like Prince Charming survived the 'long awkward talk' with his mommy after all."

Domovoi glanced where she indicated, and sure enough, there stood Artemis, hands in his pockets, leaning against the garden gate fence, obviously waiting to let them finish. After a moment, Juliet gave him a gentle nudge.

"Alright, go on, then," she said. "I'll let you two alone and go off to…beat something up for a while." And with that, she trotted off. Once she'd rounded the corner, Domovoi turned attention back to his charge, already approaching.

"Well?" asked Artemis upon arrival, getting straight to the point, and Domovoi frowned considerately.

"I think…she's taking it reasonably well," he said. "I would avoid a fifty foot radius for the next week or so, though, just to be safe."

Artemis quirked an eyebrow. "Warning heeded."

"You?"

Artemis grimaced tellingly.

"That bad, eh?" inquired Butler.

"Actually, it went…better than expected," admitted Artemis.

"Except…" Butler led him in.

"Except," Artemis accepted the lead in, "given that I braced myself for the worst and left the room happy not to have been disowned…'better than expected' means relatively little in the grand scheme of things. "

"I see. So the good news is…?"

"The good news," said Artemis, "is that, as I said, I am _not_ disowned. In fact, mother seemed surprisingly…accepting of the matter, all things considered. She expressed no interest in firing you or attempting to send me off to a redevelopment school…for an 'awkward talk' I'd consider it a reasonable success."

"Alright," Butler returned warily, "forgive me for failing to see the downside so far…"

"The downside," said Artemis, taking a preparatory breath, "…is that I am to inform father. Immediately upon his return, preferably, I believe…or so she implied." He tapped his chin pensively. "I was thinking a brief getaway to the Caribbean. I hear it's lovely this time of year. We could heist the learjet…make a very clean getaway…it wouldn't make for a _long_ distraction, but…"

Butler raised an eyebrow, more amused than anything else. "You can't be serious." Artemis blinked up at him, expression deadpan. Butler resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I think I'm missing the tragedy behind this duty your mother's set forth. What, precisely, is so awful about having to inform your father?"

"Oh, well, if it's so simple…be my guest!" invited Artemis, throwing his hands histrionically skyward. "I'd love to see how _you_ approach the matter of informing Artemis Fowl Senior that you're now sleeping with his gay eldest son. To me, that sounds almost as appetizing as a freshly rank, still steaming heap of Diggums' 'recyclables,' but perhaps you're of another opinion?"

Butler—slightly paler than a moment ago—swallowed awkwardly. "Now that you mention it, I'm beginning to see the appeal of that Caribbean getaway," he admitted. "How formulated, exactly, was that learjet plan of yours?"

Artemis smiled wryly. "Impressively _un_formulated, actually…" He flicked a glance Butler's way. "You _were_ right…I wasn't serious."

"Mm," Butler pursed his lips, "a fine time to start with the jokes," he muttered—but it was a light-hearted enough jibe and Artemis took it without comment. "So, when _does_ your father return?" he queried, and Artemis drew a hand from his pocket, glancing at a misleadingly old-fashioned looking wristwatch.

"Approximately…one hour. Eighty minutes, tops," he assessed, and Butler winced at his side. "But-" Something—Artemis's cell-phone—hummed mechanically, and Artemis took a moment to frown before digging again into his pocket and retrieving it. After sparing a sidelong glance at the number, he raised his eyebrows and flipped it open to his ear. "_Bonjour, mon ami_…_ça fait trop de temps,"_ he greeted pleasantly_—_"Hello, friend…it's been too long."—"_À quoi je dois cette honneur?"—_"To what do I owe this honor?"

On the other line, Butler heard a rapid flurry of what might have been French, but he doubted he could have picked out the words, English or otherwise, at that rate without the phone to his ear. As it was, he read Artemis's deepening frown with trepidation. At long last, Artemis uttered some form of concurrence, and then neatly flipped his phone shut. He spared Butler a sardonic smile.

"Well, _mon cher_," Artemis began with a thin veil of optimism, "it would appear as if we may have our getaway vacation after all…"

"But not in the Caribbean?" Butler guessed, folding his arms, and Artemis's smile became genuine—small, but genuine.

"No, dear…ehm…" Given that 'friend' was no longer an entirely fitting title, Artemis's cheeks pinked lightly, and he met Butler's raised eyebrow with a tiny smirk. "No…" he repeated, this time leaving the statement free of a classifying pronoun, "I'm afraid not. Minerva is calling in a favor."

Butler sighed. "I hear France is _frigid_ this time of year."

"Ah, yes, well…" Artemis's tiny smirk grew a size. He even dared to venture a wink. "I'm sure we'll manage to stay warm _some_how."

Newly on top of Butler's list of Skills to Hone: _not_ blushing—or at least, certainly not as much. Surely it wasn't becoming on a man of his age and stature? One never would have guessed given the way Artemis's smirk grew _again_ when he did. Unfortunately, just when Butler turned to inform his charge of just how annoying that smirk really could be, Artemis caught the lapel of his shirt, tugged down and leaned up on tip-toe, cutting him off with a sweet, chaste kiss that silenced him with one hundred percent efficiency—with the side effect of doubling his determination to work on the blushing problem.

"Artemis-"

"Have I ever told you how cute you are when you do that?"

"_Cute?_" responded Butler, duly horrified. "I didn't even know you _used_ that word…you do realize I have a reputation to uphold, do you not?"

Artemis rolled his eyes, exasperatingly unconcerned. "Alright, how's this…" He fixed Butler with a dangerous smile, "I promise I won't tell _any_one that my hulking, two hundred pound Eurasian bodyguard capable of single-handedly downing a rampaging troll and manipulating reinforced steel by way of might alone also happens to tout a wide variety of other skills including, but not limited to…" Artemis began doling out the talents his fingers, "…cooking, housekeeping, baby-sitting, ballroom dancing, knitting-"

"Artemis-"

"-oh, and he looks positively _adorable_ when he blushes." If there was to be a gold medal awarded to the person most capable of providing a defining expression for the word 'smug'…

Butler grunted unintelligibly. "Next you'll have me riding bareback on unicorns through daisy fields and rainbows, Artemis, really…"

Artemis chuckled. "I'd think you might rather have a conniption fit."

"And I think you'd be right."

"I usually am. Next stop, France?"

"Anything for you, Master Artemis."

* * *

**A/N:** Right, so, my appologies for being a butt and taking this long to post this despite having it written already; I honestly sort of forgot…I tend to do that when I'm not actively working on a piece. *guilty* Anyways, now you all can see how, at first, I was considering making _L'Homme Fatale _a mere continuation of this. It does fit. But eh, oh well. I originally edited out the tail end of this (in the version on AFF, that is); I cut it off after "I'm sure we'll manage to stay warm _somehow_…" I suppose because I felt a little torn about the rest (whether it was in character; whether it was fair make fun of Butler in such an effeminte way despite the fact that he is _obviously_ the farthest thing from effeminate). But then, I thought it was cute, and figured this time around, I'd leave it in there, sacrificing perhaps a little bit of dignity for the sake of humour. *shrug* Wish me luck on my English exam tomorrow!


End file.
